12. UNFAIR FIGHT

The roar of the crowd fed Violet's bloodlust well. This pit was shallow, the blood-hungry illagers circled the lip at the height of her shoulders. It was a natural depression in the cave, the bottom sunk toward the middle and there were a few stalagmites in the space. The pounding heartbeat in her ears muffled the screams. Her breaths were strained and ragged as her lips pulled back in a sneer. The sweat, aches and near exhaustion… This was all stuff the old Violet had hated, but for the first time in her life she was switched on. Her head was abuzz with the survival instinct. The need to claw and thrash her way to victory. Suddenly, this was all she wanted.

Her opponent was a young man, or perhaps boy. He was no older than Meliora had been. Still not fully grown, his stringy limbs implied a recent growth spurt. There was a youthful uncertainty in his expression, but with his people watching he was determined to walk out the winner.

He was the same height as Violet, and she felt as determined as always to win. But this time, she really thought she might. The potential of that victory made her all the more rabid, desperate in its pursuit. An animal clawing its way to the surface.

He judged her, both their stances were wide. He lunged and swung, Violet snarled and beat his wooden sword back. There was a cracking but they continued. He moved left, Violet ducked around the stalagmite. He twisted around, went to catch her on the other side. Violet ran up the side, grabbing the top of the stalagmite and swinging herself over him. She landed in a crouch and turned, hearing approval in the maelstrom of voices.

Bets had been made. Emeralds and other items on who would win. Violet didn't know how many put their wares on her but she figured most were rooting for the boy. She was happy to disappoint them.

He came back around and batted his sword against hers. Violet swung his sword into the rock beside them and held it there, then she stomped on his foot viciously. He yelped and limped back. Violet wasn't sorry, an inner animal part of her processed the potential new advantage with pleasure. She approached and he stumbled back, there was fear in his reds.

Then, in a flash, Violet was transported back to the massacre. Her body iced while her blood burned. She could feel her pupils dilating and pulse gallop like a stampede of war horses. She had tunnel vision. With a scream she lashed and knocked her opponent over, blood sprayed out his mouth. He fell on his back, too dazed to get up.

Violet stood over him hissing breaths, registering the tumultuous cheer from the crowd. She processed her win and lowered the sword, stepping away from him. She turned to the edge, where many hands were reaching down and allowed them to pull her out.

In the week since Violet's training began in earnest, she was always fighting. Outside of the pit her conscientiousness remained. She helped with plenty of the chores and tasks. Inside the ring she became a different person, and there was no stopping a fight to see if her opponent had been hurt too bad. No, her enemy was her enemy - this was an invariant fact.

It was the same when she lost fights. She didn't hold a grudge, when someone pulled her out it was just over. She felt next to nothing, except for occasionally, the tiniest speck of gratitude that they'd contributed to her growing experiences in combat. But mostly, the fight was a need, and there were no thoughts. Violet had two selves, one that was reminiscent of the woman she used to be, and one more similar to an animal than any person.

Bronis had her by the shoulder then and raised his arm, his expression was wild with enthusiasm and the crowd quietened down. Violet could see from her peripheral a few down there helping up the loser.

"The match is settled! The victor is the newcomer, Violet!"

He shook her and cheers erupted again. There was so much adrenaline in the air, everyone high on testosterone. Violet soaked it in, standing still in Bronis's grasp while her eyes looked over everyone. Nedi had been watching, and normally the giant showed no reaction, but now he was clapping slowly. She recognised some others before she was turned around, and led among the usual procession back to the main area of the caves.

Mostly men with her, but a portion of women, all lively as they sprang over boulders back to main camp. Those still working or resting peered over, frowning at the noise before refocusing or turning over in their hammocks. Violet was seated down with a few illagers. They chatted around her, the enthusiasm waning how it always did until they'd all left her some thirty minutes later. The nearest group was chatting quietly now around a fire, and Violet finally stood and wandered over to the tunnel where Tiril was cooking for everyone.

It was a long section, inside pots were boiling, pans were frying, and ovens leaked the sweet smell of cooking meat and fat. A pair of thin illager women looked up from cutting and peeling, they analysed Violet's new bruises and the sheen of sweat, then nodded to her. Violet returned the gesture on her way to the third illager at the end. Violet's walk was more intimidating than her old stride, her steps were more practiced and slightly wider, more ready to face a threat that might come at her from any side.

Tiril was three times wider than most illagers, she was crouched down and removing a tray. She set it down and then with the cloths she'd wrapped her hands in, beat at the smoke that wafted in the air. A little burnt, she'd have to cut out the charred parts. Violet came to a stop behind her and cleared her throat.

She half-looked over her shoulder, "Violet, thou can start on this side of the benches."

Violet nodded then got sudsy water from the corner of the room. She started cleaning the food prep areas. In the minutes that followed there was dicing and chopping, then the other women scraped the contents on their cutting boards into boiling pots. The ready vegetables were all laid out on serving trays. Then the two women stepped out and Violet moved along to clean their areas. Tiril finished with her usual grunt of satisfaction, smacking her hands together. She rounded on Violet.

"Thou looks rather beaten today."

"I think I did most of these myself," Violet set down her cloth and walked to the far wall as was procedure. "I lose track of my surroundings a bit, knock myself around, you know."

Tiril huffed as she went about collecting samples from everything and putting them in separate bowls.

Violet watched her, "...would you believe that I won?"

"Thou loses more often than thou wins." Tiril said after she was ready, approaching Violet with a spoon in hand and a multitude of wooden bowls balanced along her arm. "Still, I am proud of thee."

Violet opened her mouth and Tiril spooned in mashed potato. Zann had said that Violet wasn't allowed in their armoury or food rooms. Still, Violet had gravitated toward Tiril and how she single-handedly organised all meals for a tribe of at least thirty hungry savages. She had random alternating helpers, but she was always the main cook. And she didn't complain about that, Tiril thrived in her very important role. She wasn't their leader, but in a simpler way she was their backbone. She sustained everyone's physical, daily needs.

Tiril spooned in everything else she'd made to ensure Violet hadn't poisoned anything. It was the condition Tiril had decided on prior to letting Violet help her. She took the last bite, greens, and Tiril turned away to set the bowls in a pile by the sink. Violet swallowed, such lovely hot food that burned her mouth. Violet could tell she was growing on Tiril.

"Want me to help you carry it out?"

"Thou knows the score. Get those other two back here and don't approach the food again until it's thy turn to be served."

"Yes, Ma'am." Violet left.

Lunch was carried out to the long serving table and eager murmurings rippled through the other illagers as they always did. As the last trays were carried out they started to stand and crowd over. Tiril stood at one end and banged her ladle twice against a metal edge, the first to be served walked up and she readied a bowl. Violet took up a space in line with no shame, waiting as everyone advanced in halting steps.

"I hast an idea of food flavouring for the outsider," a man ahead in the line stated. Violet looked up to see him spit on the ground near her.

She glared.

Mostly the illagers were indifferent to her. Some of them even liked her. Still, some of them openly disliked her. Nobody had so much as pushed her after Zann's new order, but a few had openly mocked her. This man she recognised as having done as much before. The guy he stood with was smirking, but the culprit himself matched her glare with a fiery one of his own. She didn't care to know what his problem with her was specifically, but the reasoning was probably simple.

Violet ignored him and followed along the line, getting her portion in time and then turning away to go eat alone. The man from before had lingered out of sight. He stuck his food out and tripped her, Violet staggered a few steps before crashing into a boulder, spilling vegetables up her top.

"Oi!" Tiril's shout was a warning. Everyone in sight became subdued.

After Zann, the cook was the second person they didn't want to displease.

Facing away from Tiril, the culprit was smirking. Violet felt a burst of anger, she set her bowl on top of the boulder and stormed over. Another illager got between them, hands against both their chests.

"Violet, naye. Halt thyself," his voice was harsher toward her before softening at the other, "Inger, thou dost not want to upset the captain."

"What is your problem?" Violet demanded.

He was just a foot soldier as far as she knew, not in Zann's inner circle. He was bigger and stronger than her though, would likely beat her in a fight but she felt ready to charge him anyway.

"Forget Inger," another illager from the sidelines commented. A lighter voice, more like a goblin than the orcish baritones some had. "Thou defeated his nephew in the pit today."

Violet's eyes were back on Inger who was glaring once more. So he had a grudge?

"Fight me. We'll have a match. I challenge you."

Sometimes Violet wasn't sure what part of her made decisions like these, the words spilled from her mouth. The surrounding crowd got excited anyway.

"I accept," Inger said readily.

"Hold on," someone pushed through to stand at Violet's side. It was Sagan, raising his hands. "Let us not make haste with a trivial disagreement."

"A challenge hast already been made, Sagan. And I accepted," Inger declared, puffing his chest.

Sagan was quiet, Violet could see his mind working behind his eyes. Behind them Tiril was back to serving food, ignoring the stand-off.

"Aye, ye both shall fight. But not before I be given more time to train mine pupil."

"How long?" Inger demanded.

"A week."

"Fine," and he stormed off, some of the crowd breaking away with him.

Sagan took Violet by the arm and led her out of those who remained. They began to disperse.

"So a week, huh?" Violet started when they were away from everyone.

Typically fights within the pits were delayed for at least a day, long enough for the news to promulgate so bets could be made. These were handled by Sagan and Bronis, who kept a written record and stored the betted goods in a chest they carried between them.

Sagan rounded on her with a weary expression and she could understand why. So far she'd lost every fight against an able-bodied man. Only the younger, older, or in some manner lame, or some of the women Violet had been able to beat. Lots of illagers who disliked her, openly or not, had issued challenges and expressed their feelings in the ring. Violet usually lost, but the wins she acquired thanks to her training were treasured. Beating Inger was almost impossible, she knew that, but not only would it be good practice but maybe he'd get over his dislike after pummeling her.

"Thou is to have no more fights for a week," he finally said.

"What?" Violet blanched, "why?"

"Thee must recover from thy other battles. Training will still continue."

"But… why?" Violet repeated it slower this time, with real wondering.

"Because I wish to see thee defeat Inger," Sagan confided. "It be a challenge, but a good one. One thee may be ready for."

She was curious, but caught the burning eagerness in his eyes. She felt it too then, the drive to take this challenge seriously and win. She'd just wanted the fight before. Now she wanted the win.

"Come with me," Sagan instructed before walking off. Wordlessly, Violet followed.

They went to one of their regular training rooms. Sagan passed her a wooden sword and they began their sparring. Ten minutes of that and Violet was sweating again.

"To fight a stronger opponent, use their own strength against them," Sagan spoke between the clashing and rattling of their weapons. "Attack his balance. That can't be well strengthened." He jumped around and Violet turned with him at once, like a magnet. "Thee can attack his senses, throw cave dirt to obscure his vision." He jumped with a swing that Violet parried then sprang away from. He could tell that Violet wasn't deterred by a battle with the odds stacked against her and it was making him excited. "Avoid an open space, but don't let him corner thou. Use the environment - good." He praised her when Violet jumped away, springing off a crate and forcing him to give ground for several steps.

He was soon back in control and they continued. Of all the advice given, the most important remained the same: seek any advantage.

Nedi entered later in the day, carrying an empty box. They stopped their practice to face him as he approached.

"It is time for the prisoner to brew the next batch of healing potions," he rumbled.

Sagan looked back at her before walking to Nedi, guiding him out into the hall so they could discuss in private. He was going to try convincing Nedi, and likely Zann, that she should focus on combat training this week. Violet was breathing deeply, she used the interruption to rest for a bit, leaning her sword against a stack and finding a single crate to sit down on.

As well as fighting with swords, she'd also had a few fighting lessons with no weapons. Just straight up wrestling. Mostly with Jarmila. The rules were no low blows, no scratching or biting. They circled each other in leaning crouches, and once they had their hands on each other they tried working at the other's balance and then worked to get them into a lock. Violet hadn't yet won a wrestling match, but one time she got close.

She copied a technique from Bronis: still yourself, and when your opponent tries to adjust for a better hold, use that opportunity to pull free. Violet had done that to Jarmila, it worked and she went for a hold of her own. For an exhilarating moment she had the upper hand, and then Jarmila bit her and in Violet's shock, took back control of the fight and won. Jarmila barked a satisfied laugh as she stepped away, and bewildered, Violet had looked at Bronis who'd been watching, expecting him to call her out for the illegal move. But he didn't.

Then Violet understood.

Seek any advantage. Sure Violet could fight with low blows, scratches, bites. But if she did her opponent would resort to them too. It was an agreement on both sides that could be broken at any time. Violet could rely on them on an ad hoc basis for winning the fight.

Sagan returned without Nedi, who trudged away with his crate.

"Alright, let us resume."

Violet was surprised, not expecting that she'd be let out of her brewing duties just to prepare for a fight. But she accepted it, stood and plucked her sword back into her grip. Back into the ready position. Their practice continued.

Zann didn't come to see her. She thought he might, but he didn't. Trying to not be disappointed about that, she forced it out of her mind and practised against Sagan, Bronis and Jarmila. Violet had only barely relaxed at the idea of fighting Jarmila through familiarity. The injuries she got, though minor, always hurt more. Her attacks were obviously designed to inflict pain. Also, fighting Jarmila was more consuming for her, which wasn't to say she took fighting the brothers lightly. In all matches she was giving it her all, but against Jarmila her senses were pricked to the extreme. Jarmila fights were more intellectual, and emotional. There was a strong calculating edge to them, a win-by-any-means mentality.

Violet was learning a lot from all of them.

And then, to her great surprise Nedi volunteered to train her too.

"Uh…" Violet's eyes slowly moved from his feet to his great height, "...wow."

The others were surprised too. Jarmila laughed.

"I get that learning to beat a stronger opponent is what I'm trying to do here, but isn't this a bit much?" Violet asked and Nedi just shrugged.

"Tis good to have varied teachers in combat," Sagan crossed his arms and nodded, already taken with the idea.

"Inger is only stronger than me because he's a man. Nedi is…" Violet stared at the brute and was lost for words. Inger wasn't really taller than her by much, his arms were just a few inches thicker. His biggest difference to others of his kind were the numbers of warts on his nose. Violet's focus cleared on Nedi and she finished, "...huge."

"Just fight him," Jarmila urged impatiently.

Violet could feel that to the others the decision was made. They were only waiting for her to accept it. So she did.

"Alright," Violet shrugged the same way Nedi did, into an uneven hunch.

He trudged over and Bronis handed him the sword. It looked small in his grip, the same length as his forearm. Violet worked at loosening her arms and legs in preparation for this, though it was ridiculous. They faced each other and then Nedi roared before swinging the sword into the ground. Violet leapt from its path.

He was slow. Well, slower. He roared again and Violet darted back from the swinging arc. Lots of power, as expected. She recalled that his preferred weapon was an axe. Not much range to it, but plenty of opportunities to work his strength to his advantage. Violet analysed this as she came up with her attack plan.

She worked to slide close to him and succeeded, but even if he was slow a single step took him far out of range. They parried for a while, Violet almost losing her sword. She lost the fight when he got around her, and with a shove from his bare hand she flew a couple metres and landed flat on her stomach.

"Oof!"

Jarmila snickered. Bronis clapped.

Sagan approached with words of encouragement, "A good attempt, Violet."

It could've ended badly, but Nedi was trying the hardest to follow Zann's order and not be too rough on her. Violet recalled him not liking her much, and yet here he was training her like the others. It just goes to show how much their kind liked fighting.

In the days that followed it seemed like her composite team of trainers were being more careful than usual. They really wanted to see if she had what it took to beat Inger, all of them. For that reason they weren't going to hurt her if they could help it.

On the fifth day, for the first time ever in a fight Violet froze up.

It was such a normal response, but not one she'd had in a while. Nedi was above her, slamming his sword and she'd guarded. She buckled under the blow, though her stance was wide. Then he continued striking her like he was swinging a hammer. She had her opening, but his great size overwhelmed her, and she was rooted to the spot and just holding firm under the continuous blows. Then - crack! - Nedi's sword broke. He lifted the hanging piece of wood and scratched his head dumbly.

Violet still couldn't move until Sagan approached and walked her away. Where Jarmila's scare tactics had failed, Nedi's sheer size had done the trick. Maybe the difference was there was still a thirst for vengeance against Jarmila. Maybe, Violet was no longer going with an instinctual drive but her cognitive mind was now interfering. Maybe, who knows?

"Thou must never freeze in a fight, Violet," Sagan took her aside to say.

"I know…"

"Fight or flight, but to freeze is to die."

"I know."

The day of the fight.

Old Violet would consider what she's about to do absolutely insane. To new Violet it made perfect sense to be at the coalface. In fact, even looking at it from a purely logical standpoint, experience in real fights against stronger opponents could only give her much needed practice that would in time become muscle memory. With enough muscle memory, she'd never freeze up again.

But with all that said, Violet didn't need to think about the point of it. She wanted the fight. And her walk to the pit was quickened by her newly acquired bloodlust, and slowed by some measure of caution, and so she was walking at her regular pace. Illagers saw her from across the cavern, many standing on boulders of varying heights, and they scrambled down to gather and walk beside her excitedly.

"I was just about to go get thee," Sagan said when he saw her.

The crowd opened to the pit, Violet sat on its edge then slid down. Inger leaned off the wall then and beat a fist against his bare chest. Intimidation tactic? Well being shirtless should mean he feels the full sting of her blows. Their wooden swords were handed to them. They went to the middle and pressed their weapons together, as was customary. Inger smiled, already assured of his win. Well, he probably wasn't very smart. Then they backed up to the edges and Violet felt reassuring pats on her head that she ignored, eyes stuck forward.

Sagan called, "Begin!"

Inger immediately charged, his anticipation switching to bloodlust in a heartbeat.

Swing, crack!

He immediately stepped into his blow and lashed a kick at her forward leg. Violet had already prepared by shifting all her weight to her back foot. He'd meant to overwhelm her right away, forcing her back, but she'd not given ground and he hesitated in surprise because she was in his space. Her sword went for his neck but he turned and it got his shoulder. He grabbed a fistful of her hair.

Violet spun away and he wrenched out a dozen strands. Violet faced him, breathing through her teeth, feeling the heat of blood on her scalp. She could plainly see the bruise now lining the grey flesh at his shoulder. He clutched it, giving Violet an idea of how sore it was, then hissed and lunged into their next exchange.

Whack-whack-whack.

They parried and Violet walked backwards. She was letting him think he was cornering her, but she was hyper-aware of the stalagmite behind her. She stepped right and pressed his sword against it with both arms, leaned around into a kick that scored against his side. He wrenched their swords free and she retreated around the stalagmite, keeping the obstacle between them now.

She didn't have eyes in the back of her head. She'd memorised the surroundings, and was using them to her maximum advantage.

He deliberated for a second before following her around. Violet continued away from him, and while obscured from view she scraped together a tiny fistful of cave dirt. She was backing up into the open and then he was out too and she threw it.

He caught on and lowered his gaze, so she swung. Her sword cracked against stone as he ducked and turned, then with his head still lowered he charged, barging her in the chest. Violet was carried, stumbling into the far wall. His heft was enough to squeeze the breath from her. In the next second he'd be swinging his fists into her sides, so she leaned in and bit into his neck. He howled.

As usual the jeering of the audience died out under her breaths, heartbeat and pure adrenaline. It always happened in very tense seconds such as these. Violet imagined that this wasn't a fight with an audience, but a real enemy trying to kill her. She slapped at his sore shoulder until he ceded space and she wiggled out and was free - out from the close confinement that would've guaranteed her loss in a few more seconds, had he got his hands on her.

He turned around, furious. Then like a bull he charged her again.

He was being direct. That meant a sneaky move on her part might work.

Or she'd fail pathetically and end up on the ground and it'd be lights out seconds later.

Couldn't hurt to try.

Violet matched his roar with one of her own, she pretended to overcompensate for fear. She reared back and then swung her sword dramatically, too far. He noticed, and thinking he was taking advantage he stopped the charge to parry her blow. Violet's whole body was turning with her swing, her back was to him, her face looking the other way. Before he could raise his sword again, her right leg left the ground, and in the full motion of her turn, booted him across the jaw.

No fear. The only way she could pull off a move like that was if she was utterly unhampered by fear.

Violet could see the result of a failure: Missing teeth, maybe a fracture they'd refuse to heal, the hours writhing in pain on a stretcher. Biting and screaming into a cloth. Unavoidable, but permissible. Par for the course, only she hadn't failed. She figured a nine out of ten chance he'd dodge her foot and she'd be on the ground at his mercy. But blindly, she felt her foot connect.

She landed in a heap while he staggered to the side. Violet jumped up urgently to end the fight. Another swing at Inger's face and he was spitting blood the same as his nephew the week before, falling against the ground. A tooth bounced across the stone.

The illagers cheered louder than she'd ever heard them. Violet looked up, astonished. It was like that time she'd somehow braved monsters to save little Tobias. She felt a swell of pride. And next second she noticed Zann amongst the crowd because he was so still. She met his eyes and he gave her a nod of approval, the hint of a smile on his lips.

Violet wasn't by the edge but she was grabbed anyway, hauled over and out. They were carrying her. She hated these illagers, but with the euphoria of winning in her system she didn't know how to feel. Violet was carried several paces before they set her down, surrounding her.

She turned, unsteady and searching the crowd, "Zann?" She pushed through, earnestly trying to find him. He'd come to see her big fight. The first time he had. "Zann?" Why was she aching for his approval?

"Zann?"

The crowd parted for her, and she couldn't see any of their faces. He'd already been going back to his quarters but he turned and she hurried over. She stopped and they stared at each other.

He turned and patted her on the head. She blushed violently and he simply turned away again and continued off.

Why was it so intoxicating when he was around?

That was pretty fucked up.

。。。

【AN: Thanks to new follower OldFox1315! Oo we have now crossed the intended halfway mark for this story!】